


A Royal Soulmate Side Stories

by Selador



Series: Chocobros OT4 Soulmate AU [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, And By Chapter, Check Chapter Notes, Domestic Violence, Gen, Human Experimentation, M/M, Multi, Not Standalones, Other, Self-Harm, in chapter 3, rape mention, read A Royal Soulmate first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: Additional and complementary scenes that fit within the story and universe of "A Royal Soulmate" but are ultimately unnecessary to the main story and are just for fun.





	1. A Tea Time Interlude (Ignis, Chapter 9)

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be its own side story, and will be posted as I write them, so they won't be in chronological order. I'll update tags for the fic as I go, and I'll put what chapter of ARS each side story is referring to. You should read those first, as these are not standalones. 
> 
> The content warnings are generally the same or similar to the main fic, but I'll update those here too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this first chapter, she5los asked me after reading Chapter 9 of ARS, "wait what was iggy doing while prompto and nyx were gone?"

Ignis waits until Prompto’s and Nyx’s footsteps fade down the hallway to throw his napkin against the floor and let himself bury his face in his hands.

That was worse than he ever feared. That was much worse, and it only took him less than ten sentences. It had to be a record of some kind. Some miserable accomplishment for provoking his soulmate into yelling with so few words.

Ignis tries not to remember that the only other time Prompto has yelled during his time at Insomnia was when he was actively going through a dissociative episode. Which he was going through because he believed Ignis planned on raping him.

Crownsguard Silex, from her position, moves, and Ignis pulls himself out of his self-pity long enough to lean over and pick up the napkin. “Apologies for the display,” he says.

“It’s alright, my lord,” Silex says. Sagitta Silex teeters on the edge of too casual for a guard, but it’s acceptable for one whose family has served the Crown for generations, and who has been acquainted with Ignis since childhood. Ignis spent many childhood playdates with her and her sister.

And Ignis can’t cast stones after what just happened and his own behavior.

She says, “I’ll go get Ira.”

It only takes a few minutes for Silex to find Ira, and he can hear his assistant before he sees her, her shoes clicking on the stone flooring. Ira walks out into the courtyard, as always in her heels and perfect, red lipstick. “We’ll get this cleaned up right away,” Ira tells him, unruffled by the scene and Ignis’ assuredly dreadful appearance. As an assistant, there are none better, and Ignis feels a rush of appreciation for her.

Not ten minutes after Prompto arrived, the much-anticipated afternoon tea is dismantled.

Ignis excuses himself to wash up in the lavatory and collect himself. That was a poor sequence of events to have in front of their guards, even those as well trusted as Silex and Arcus.

And now, Ulric. Ignis hadn’t been well aware of the Kingsglaive before, for all that Ulric is a hero from the front lines. They had barely crossed paths before. Yet somehow, Ulric has become an essential figure in their lives, by virtue of how well he gets along with their last soulmate.

If Ulric hadn’t had the insight and initiative to remove Prompto from the situation, Ignis is certain he only would have dug himself deeper into this hole he’s made for himself with Prompto. That’s all he seems able to accomplish with Prompto.

 _If only it were my goal to make him hate me as much as possible_ , he thinks with a wry, depreciating twist, splashing some cool water on his face. Prompto reached out on his own to speak to him, and Ignis ruined it before they could even think of mending bridges.

He didn’t even just ruin it. He burned it down. Jumped off of it. Burned it down _and_ jumped off of it at the same time.

He ought to speak to Ulric. Perhaps he could learn something for next time. Not that Prompto is ever likely to speak to Ignis again, and… well, learning about Prompto without Prompto aware of it seems to be causing problems of its own. He could still thank Ulric, at least. And he should. From all accounts, he’s providing Prompto much needed support during his stay here. Gratitude is the least Ignis owes Ulric.

His phone dings, and he ignores it for all of a minute before the obligation to check it grows too great.

It’s from Ulric, which isn’t unexpected, but the content is the opposite of what he imagines. _We’re heading back. Eta 7 mins_

Ignis wastes ten seconds staring at it, and then he rushes out of the lavatory.

Ira’s waiting for him, sitting cross-legged in his chair. The kind lecture she’s about to give him about taking care of himself is written in her face, but he bursts back into the courtyard and says, “He’s coming back.”  

It’s a flurry of activity, replacing the tablecloths, napkins, utensils, food, and tea in seven minutes, but they manage. Ira tells him, as he’s sitting down, “Take off your jacket and give it to me, you’ve got water on it.”

She leaves and Ignis has a few seconds to breathe and contemplate how to word his apology, and braces himself for Prompto’s return.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ira = Latin for "anger"  
> Sagitta = Latin for "arrow," her last name Silex means "flint"


	2. IGNIS STUPIDHEAD SCIENTIA (Noctis, Chapter 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leaper182 on tumblr asked: "I have an idea for a side story for "A Royal Soulmate"? What happened when Messy wrote "My name is Ignis Stupidhead Scientia, and I hate having fun."?"
> 
> This takes place during Chapter 1 of A Royal Soulmate.

Noctis is so prepared. He couldn’t be more prepared. There’s no guard in his room with him, Iggy and Gladio are both busy, his dad’s in meetings until he goes to bed, and he’s _finally_ gotten good enough at warping to get from one building to the next.

It’s official. Noctis is going to sneak out of the Citadel.

He’s going to sneak out of the Citadel to go to a party.

More importantly, he’s going to a party! His first party!

He got _invited_ to a _party_!

Noctis doesn’t open the window; he takes a deep breath, and takes a step without stepping, phasing through the wall. It’s much colder outside, and his footing slips for a moment. He briefly but vividly imagines falling off the roof, reinjuring himself after the years of recovery the daemon attack cost him— _a party isn’t worth that not worth that at all what is he_ thinking _?—_ and he throws his toy knife across to the base of a nearby tree.

When he touches solid ground, a knot of tight anxiety releases. The image of falling, of breaking, of years of trying to heal an injury that should have killed him don’t fade quite yet, but he tries to refocus on the party. The party that he’s going to. That he was invited to.

His first party!

He tucks into his jacket, and adjusts his cap and tries to hide from where he knows the common guard routes are. Warping is pretty noticeable, especially for glaives, who would be able to easily catch up to him, so he’s got to be quick about it.

And Noctis really wants to go to this party.

He’s not popular in high school. He doesn’t have friends.

 _That’s not true_ , he thinks, admonishing himself. He has Gladio and Iggy. But by the Six, he wants to get along with someone from school. Even just _one_. Just one friend who wanted to sit next to him during classes. And lunch. Or who would be his partner in group projects and lab. So he doesn’t have to sit there, desperately trying to make eye contact with _anyone_ else who might not have someone yet.

He just wants someone to choose him.

He shouldn’t be ungrateful. Noctis has _two_ soulmates. Wonderful, awesome, fantastic soulmates.

But they were always going to be in his life, soulmates or not. They were raised to be Noctis’ advisors.

Noctis would never admit this, not to anyone for any reason, but the fact that they were also his soulmates just made it seems even less like a choice.

But one of his classmates, Amet, is having a party while his parents are away on a business trip. He invited the whole class—which, well, means that he had to invite Noctis unless if he wanted to be _really_ rude, but it still counts.

And Noctis isn’t _un_ popular. At least, he hopes not. He is the Prince, and people smile at him and say hi, even when they don’t have class together. But no one actually comes to talk to him, or hang out with him.  
_I am the_ Prince, he thinks to himself, scowling.

And he doesn’t really know how to talk to people his age.

Or who aren’t Gladio or Iggy, but they’re both already twenty. With people actually his age, who he hasn’t known his entire life and who are nobility, Noctis is a little lost.

He gets outside the gates, and not wanting to waste this opportunity, hurries down the streets. Noctis looked up the address before, it’s not that far from the Citadel. Like only twenty minutes. Amet’s parents must do pretty well, to live this close to the Citadel.

Worrying about having the wrong address was moot; the place is lit up, cars parked everywhere nearby, and music and talking thrumming from houses away.

Noctis’ grows less certain of himself the closer he gets to the house. He sees some of his classmates, but doesn’t know how to approach them. How does he even start a conversation? Talk about classes? Talk about their families? Everyone already knows who his family is.

If he lingers too long away from the house, someone will notice and wonder what his problem is, so he inches closer. Then he tries to stride purposefully to seem like he knows what he’s doing, but no one even glances his way. They’re talking, laughing, and having fun together, with their friends, and Noctis is here alone.

Oh, gods, this feels even worse.

He decides to go inside, and has to dodge someone running down the stairs. Inside the music is louder and the lights are brighter. It smells of alcohol and sweat.

His jacket is too much, so he takes it off, and hesitates. There’s no place to hang it, but then he sees a pile of jackets in the corner and—well, he might never see this jacket again, but it’s not an expensive one, so Noctis drops it.

His hat stays on, for now. Everyone knows who he is, but having it is reassuring.

Amet is chatting with some people by the snack table (which comprises only of chips?), so Noctis goes over there. “Hey, Your Highness!” Amet says.

“You can just call me Noctis,” he mutters. Clears his throat. “Uh, thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Amet gives him a strange look, and Noctis wonders if he said something wrong. Gods, why does everything in high school make politics seem _easy_? “Uh, sure. No problem.”

“Cool, I’m going to—go over there,” Noctis says, darting to the drinks. Which is beer. Not a great kind either, but he decides to get himself a cup too.

Which is what he does, until a familiar hand grips his shoulder and Noctis _knows_ Iggy’s found him before even seeing his face.

“ _Your Highness_ ,” Iggy hisses, “what are you _doing_?”

Shit, now people are _looking_ at him. And oh gods, people are getting out their phones. “Not here,” Noctis says, and luckily Iggy sees them two, and they duck away to an unoccupied room in the house. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here?” Ignis repeats. “You snuck out of the Citadel! Without any guard! Do you know how risky that is?”

“I just went to a classmate’s house,” Noctis protests. “I didn’t go outside the Wall or anything! And how the _fuck_ did you find me?” He had been so careful!

Ignis glowers. “One of the Kingsglaives saw you. You’re still training, Your Highness, and the Glaives are our front-line soldiers for a _reason_.” Yeah, sure, they’re much better than Noctis, he already knows that. “The Kingsglaive alerted us that you had left the Citadel unaccompanied. He followed you to ensure your protection, since you left _on your own_ —”

Noctis snaps, “What’s the point of training if I’m not trusted to protect myself?”

“You haven’t finished you’re training yet, there’s too many dangers—”

“What, in Insomnia? Nothing bad can get in!”

“There are people in Insomnia who will wish you harm, and as the Crown Prince, going _anywhere_ alone is a risk we can’t have,” Ignis says, furious, clearly wanting to yell but not. “We can’t discuss this here. We are going _home_.” He waves a hand, and the Glaive is there. Noctis glares, and he doesn’t react at all. “Discreetly. I don’t want photographs in the paper tomorrow about the Prince being escorted home from a party. With _underaged_ drinking.”

It’s a lost battle at this point, and all Noctis can do is scowl and glare as he’s herded out of the house away from prying eyes. A car is waiting, because of course it is. Noctis gets in with Ignis, and they drive away from any chance of normal his social life ever had.

…

This is how he ends up making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

The car ride is silent and tense. Ignis is fuming, his face betraying more of his anger than he’d probably like. Noctis wants to say something—defend himself, explain that it was just a party with his classmates who all had a billion background checks done on them _anyway_ , and what was the point of that if Noctis couldn’t even hang out with any of them?—but all too soon they’re at the Citadel.

They stop, and to his surprise, Ignis makes no move to get out of the car. “Your father is waiting for you inside.”

Noctis flinches. “You told my _father_?”

Ignis nods without looking at him. “As well as Clarus and Gladio. I expect that they’re also waiting for you.”

Noctis gapes at him. “My father had _meetings_ tonight!”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you snuck out,” Ignis snaps. He takes a deep breath. “Now get out.”

Too stunned to respond, Noctis fumbles with his seat belt and leaves the car, which Ignis drives away as soon as he’s out.

He can’t remember the last time Ignis was so angry with him.

Noctis sees Gladio waiting for him, and any momentary worry is quickly replaced by bitterness. Did Iggy really _have_ to tell everyone that Noctis had snuck out? He was only going to a party!

He doesn’t want to go to Gladio and hear whatever he has to say that is causing that expression on his face, but he trudges over anyway.

“Your Majesty and Lord Amicitia are waiting for you inside,” Gladio says after a prolonged pause.

Noctis starts, “Gladio—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupts gruffly.

“But Gladio—” Noctis tries again.

“Why didn’t you trust me?” Gladio asks. “I would have gone with you. I would have been your security, and you could still have gone to the party. We could have avoided all of this.”

 _But that wouldn’t have been the same_ , Noctis thinks, even though Gladio’s right. But he just wanted _one_ party on his own. Just _one_.

He leaves Gladio, and braces himself for his father.

His father is in his chambers, waiting for him. Noctis’ guilt rises over making him cancel his meeting, and grows ever more frustrated with Ignis making such a big deal out of this. With a breath, he opens the door, and steps inside.

There are no guards or glaives this time, just his dad and Clarus sitting down at the table, clearly waiting.

Noctis is in so much trouble.

“Why did you sneak out, Noctis?” his father asks softly.

“I just wanted to go to a party,” Noctis says. “It was just a stupid party. It didn’t need to be this big of a deal.”

“No, it didn’t,” Clarus says, voice cool and face stoic. Noctis looks away.

“You went to the party,” his dad continues. “You were unguarded for ten minutes during that time. Noctis, how much can happen in ten minutes?”

Noctis knows this answer. The time it took for his mother to die and for Noctis to be so badly injured that he couldn’t walk for years was less than five minutes.

Suddenly, his mind flashes to sliding down the roof, and he tries not to let his horror show on his face.

“Luckily, nothing happened. Not this time,” his dad says. “Our Kingsglaives and your Advisor acted well, but we might not be so fortunate in the future. I understand that you wish to join your peers at social activities, but we must be cautious. I am assigning a guard to your chambers at night for the next month, and after that, perhaps we can discuss how you may safely attend your classmates’ social events.”

He doesn’t want anyone to watch him sleep, but Noctis knows he’s actually getting off pretty easy. He murmurs, “Okay. Can I go now?”

His dad and Clarus exchange a look. Clarus says, “We’re relieved you’re safe, Noctis. But there’s a reason Gladio has been assigned as your Shield. If nothing else, you should have had him with you.”  
“I understand,” Noctis says, miserable and looking at the floor. “Can I go _now_?”

There’s another brief pause, but his dad thankfully says, “Yes. We’ll speak more tomorrow,” and Noctis wastes no time is ducking out of there.

A glaive shadows him, but he ignores him as much as he can. He can’t lock him out of his room—not that that would work on a glaive anyway—but Noctis can ignore pretty much everything else.

And he can lock everyone else out.

He pulls off his jacket and throws it across the room, rips off his shoes with similar force, and falls down onto his bed on top of the covers. Shifting around, he slips out of his pants and tosses them onto the floor, and crawls under the comforter.

He just wanted to go to a party and be normal for once.

And, despite what his dad said, nothing happened! Yeah, that time on the roof was scary, but Noctis is a lot better with his magic now, he was fine on his own. And how is he ever going to run a country and fight a war if he’s not even strong enough to go out to a party with his classmates?

How can he rule a country if he can’t even be social like a normal person for one night? If he can’t even get anyone to like him without having been _raised_ and _predestined_ to be with him?

He can’t sleep. Doesn’t want to sleep. He thinks about Iggy, and how all people are going to talk about at school next week is how the Prince of Lucis got dragged out of the party like a child.

He’s so pissed off. He just wanted to have _fun_ , why did Ignis have to—

Grabbing a pen on his nightstand, he doesn’t think as he scrawls out _MY NAME IS IGNIS STUPIDHEAD SCIENTIA AND I HATE HAVING FUN_.

It feels good for a moment. Not enough, because he’s still angry and had such hopes for this party, and it’s just childish, but it makes him feel better.

For a moment. Then icy realizing crawls up his chest, and he hurriedly scratches out Iggy’s name.

 _It was only a minute_ , he thinks. _They couldn’t have seen it_. But they might have.

They might have.

They have Iggy’s name now. With his name, it wouldn’t be at all hard to find him.

That’s not what Noctis wanted. Not at all. He wanted to be mad at Iggy, not risk his life.

Maybe Iggy and everyone was right after all, about risks.

“Glaive Solea,” Noctis says, voice shaky. “Can you get Clarus to come here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amet = Latin for "fun"  
> Solea = Latin for "sandal"


	3. Scars (Prompto, Pre-A Royal Soulmate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Prompto got rid of the barcode on his wrist. Takes place pre-A Royal Soulmate
> 
> \---
> 
> Supposed to be a response to smokingcaramels prompt of, "If no one has mentioned it yet, what about when our Lucian trio had the scars appear on their wrists?" but I got sidetracked and wrote the wrong POV of that event. Whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: SELF-HARM. Graphic-ish, not for the intention of self-harming, but self-harm nonetheless. 
> 
> This is also kinda a response to deathtoyourhate's ask of, "For the Royal Soulmate series, is it possible for us to get some more stories from Prompto's time with the resistance?" but there's still lots to do with that, so I'm leaving it on the list (as well as with smokingcaramels prompt since I didn't even do the thing they asked for).

NH-01987 has been active for eight years when he is stolen from his pod in Zegnautus Keep.

The thief is N15-00302, an insubordinate and defective experiment slated for incineration. But she’s stronger than 1987; she breaks open his pod and forcibly drags him out.

1987 does his best to do the Empire proud, struggling and fighting and biting. But 302 punches him, hard. “Will you stop that?” she hisses. “They put defective on your pod, look! They’re planning on killing you anyway!”

That shouldn’t matter, true or not. 1987 should continue fighting for the Empire until he’s decommissioned, no matter when or how that time comes.

But he looks at his broken pod, and sees the bright red tag in the darkness: DEFECTIVE.

He doesn’t help 302 in their escape, but he ceases to fight.

1987 is defective already. Death is the only possible outcome at this point.

…

They don’t die. 302 knows more passcodes than she should, and they get out of the Keep and hide away in the slums. It’s freezing, but they’re both built to be resistant to severe weather conditions. They’re survive.

Even if they’re defective.

302 tells him, “If you’re going to stay, be quiet and don’t alert any of the MTs where we are. If you do, I’m not going to come and save you,” and then she leaves him to go do something.

1987 should turn himself in, but he’s defective. He waits instead for 302, who comes back after a day.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” she says. “Come on, I found us a warmer place to stay.”

They meet some civilians who give them some bread and a floor to sleep on. It’s harder than his pod, but the walls are farther away, and it’s warm.

He should be ash and forgotten by now, but instead 1987 is warm and fed.  

…

The civilians they’re staying with are members of the Resistance. 1987 doesn’t know what that means, until one of them who calls herself Sophia sits down with him.

“We fight the Empire,” she says. “We don’t like how things are, so we’re trying to change it.”

“The Empire is absolute,” 1987 informs her. “There is no fighting it.”

Sophia’s face, uncovered by an MT mask and still so strange-looking, moves around. “We have to try.”

…

They stay until they can’t anymore, when MTs raid the house and Sophia dies.

Because that’s what it’s called, when a civilian is terminated. When they die.

“They murdered her,” 302 whispers, furious, water coming out of her eyes. “Come on, we need to—I know some other people.”

The other people are two teenagers named Biggs and Wedge. Civilians and soulmates. Part of the Resistance, and actively wanted by the Empire for hacking.

“We didn’t mean to,” Wedge says, blinking with one eye at 1987. “One thing just led to another.” 1987 doesn’t understand but he’s at low functioning so he doesn’t ask.

They stay inside for days. Biggs and Wedge come and go, but 302 and 1987 can’t leave with MTs actively still searching for them.

“We’re going to make up a fake attack to distract them,” Biggs tells them after several days. “It’ll be easy enough, and it’ll waste their resources.”

“Just be careful,” 302 warns.

If 1987 is defective, 302 is even more so. She already cares about these two.

…

Some months pass. 302 begins to apply her training with the Empire to fight against them, and she’s good at it. She breaks others out of the labs and prisons. She saves a woman named Tinia who spends a week in bed, prone and crying, and then gets up and starts organizing their intel.

She also suggests that 302 and 1987 choose new names.

“What for?” 302 demands. “So they can take that away from us too?”

“You don’t have to do it,” Tinia says. “It’s just an idea. It might help you feel more like a person, and not an experiment.”

302 scoffs, so 1987 also dismisses the idea, but a few days later, she comes back from a mission and says. “Aranea. I want to be called Aranea.”

“I—Aranea?” Tinia asks. 1987 doesn’t understand the hesitance for a moment, and remembers which daemon’s blood 302 was injected with regularly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Aranea says. “They wanted me to be a weapon, and I am a weapon. And I’m going to kill them all.”

Tinia nods and turns to 1987. “You can also pick a name, if you want.”

1987 knows nothing about names, or what to pick. He likes 1987. It’s comfortable.

…

1987 volunteers, to be of use, but the Resistance refuses.

“He’s only, what, eight years old? Let’s at least give him a couple of years,” one of the older members says. He dies a year later, along with many others, in a raid by the Empire.

There are no funerals, no goodbyes, and the only time to mourn is a candle in their honor.

The others say some words, and repeat the names of the fallen. 1987 listens, and then asks Tinia, “When I die, will you use my designation to remember me, instead of a name?”

Tinia, sad and surprised, tells him, “We will, if you don’t choose any other names.”

1987 mulls that over. “But I don’t know what to name myself. The daemons they used for my injections were more generalized.”

“Sweetheart,” Tinia says. She’s the only one to call him that, and it’s not a name, but an endearment. It means she thinks he’s kind and cute. “You don’t need to pick a name related to anything the Empire did to you. You can distant yourself from them with a new name. Just pick something that _you_ like.”

It doesn’t make any sense, but he remembers those words forever.

…

After the raid that killed so many, they begin to send 1987 out on low-risk missions, mostly sending out messages to other members. Children running around on their own is not unusual a sight in Gralea—lots of them are beggars and orphans.

1987 has to be careful not to be caught in any routine security checks. MTs make a lot of noise, so they’re usually easy to avoid, especially since 1987 knows them.

He’s good at being a deliveries and messages.

“Oh, good, you got here quickly,” says the Resistance member, Fel. “Please tell me you brought the medicine, she’s doing worse than we thought.”

1987 hands over the antibiotics, and waits while she administers it. “A fever just started setting in, I think it’ll be okay… thank you so much for getting here so fast, Ramuh himself must have been speeding your footsteps.”

“It’s, um, it’s no problem,” 1987 mutters, a bit flushed from the praise and the trip. “I’m just glad Aegra is going to be okay.”

…

When he gets home to Biggs and Wedge, he asks if there are any words that mean things like ‘quick’ or ‘speedy’ that might make a good name.

“In Old Solheim?” Biggs asks, taking out a dictionary of translations and flipping through it. “Uh, let’s see—there’s Velox.” 1987 scrunches up his face. “Okay, not that one. Alacris? Agillis? Celero?” 1987 shakes his head. “Prompto? Acero? Cito? …”

1987 considers them. “Maybe Cito or Prompto?”

“You mean as a name for youself?” Wedge asks. “You want a new name?”

“Yeah, it’s stupid, but—Fel said I was really quick with my mission and I got the medicine to them in time, and—I liked that.”

They both smile. “It’s not stupid at all. You’re thinking between Cito or Prompto?”

“Yeah,” 1987 says. He sounds out both of them. “I think Prompto sounds better? It’s—softer.”

“Prompto’s a great name,” Wedge says. “Let’s celebrate with something nice! I think we have some meat we were going to use for dinner tomorrow night, but why don’t we use it tonight instead?”

…

When Prompto is ten when he discovers he has soulmates, when he writes a note on his arm and gets a response. When he learns that there are others he’s meant to be with, far away on another continent, that he can’t talk to at all anyway.

Despite knowing nothing about them, the thought of them looms over him, even though their only communication is through doodles and drawing games. His soulmates make him a bit of an oddity among other escaped experiments for it, especially since he counts at least three separate others.

But they’re really not important in his life. He has work to do, and people he cares about here.

…

When he’s thirteen, he starts going on real missions. Prompto insisted that they can’t stop him anymore, since Aranea joined and started fighting when she was thirteen. And he’s good with a gun—it’s the only thing that he was good at as a lab specimen, the least he could do is use it against the Empire.

Prompto goes on some sniping jobs, with varying degrees of success, but still successes. He cuts it too close a couple of times, with his location and exit route, but he gets the mission done.

Until he doesn’t.

He’s waiting for Verstael Besithia, the Research Chief of Niflheim. One of the brains who come up with the idea of experimenting on humans to make better soldiers.

Prompto hasn’t been sloppy about this job. He’s got a great location. He has multiple exit routes. He’s not visible unless if someone’s directly behind him and looking up, which they shouldn’t be, except apparently someone thought of that.

His lying on his stomach, waiting for the procession to get far along enough that he can get in his shot, and a cold, hard, metal hand grabs his ankle and pulls him closer.

Prompto yelps and quickly swallows it, and focuses instead on breaking the grip on him.

It’s not easy. MTs are too strong, but there’s always a way to break a grip, especially when you know the weaknesses in their arm. There’s a slot between the face plate and the rest of the armor that would fit a knife, but Prompto has to get closer to do it.

He lets himself get pulled in, and to his horror, the MT grabs his right wrist.

It removes his glove, exposing the barcode on his wrist to the cold, harsh light of day. It says, in its electronic and toneless voice, “Scanning… scanning… Identified, Niflheim Unit Egg Group H, Number 01987. Status: Defective. Defector.” The MT pauses, red eyes glowing brighter, “ _Defector_ —”

Prompto doesn’t wait to find out what it’s going to do next. He shoves his knife up through the plating, and the grip releases him enough to flee.

His mission is a failure, but he gets home alive.

He’s alone at home—everyone’s out on their own missions. Prompto walks in, right hand freezing with the loss of his glove, holding his wrist to hide his barcode.

His _barcode_.

They know he’s alive now. They know he’s in Gralea. He’s put them all at risk.

Because of his stupid _barcode_.

It’s an ugly block on his skin, betrayal and horror inked into his skin. Prompto needs to warn the others.

Prompto takes out his knife and slashes the edge across the barcode. Seeing the lines of the tattoo broken by the wound lightens the anxiety in his chest, so he does it again. And again. And again.

“Prompto, _what are you doing_?” Aranea says, roughly pulling the knife out of his hands. His wrist is a bloody mess.

“They found me,” Prompto says, and he’s crying. The teas fall off his face, and he’s shaking. “They found me and identified me.”

Aranea’s shocked and angry face settles into understanding and sympathy. “Oh, Prompto.”

She takes him to the bathroom and wipe away the blood. Prompto’s done a poor job of slicing off the tattoo—it’s incomplete now, but still visible when clean.

“It would probably be easier,” Aranea says slowly. “To burn this off. That’s what I did to mine,” she puts out her own right wrist and pulls up her sleeve, showing a shiny but tattoo-free scar. “It hurts a lot. I’m not going to lie about that. But if you really want to get rid of this, I’ll help you.”

“Please,” Prompto says.

…

A few days later, when Prompto delivers a message to Tinia and stays the night, she asks him about the bandages on his wrist.

“I needed to get rid of my barcode,” he mutters, ashamed even though Tinia would never treat him differently from coming from the labs.

“Oh, did Aranea help you? I know she burned hers off,” Tinia says, pouring some tea and milk.

“Yeah, she did, but I—tried to do it on my own at first.”  
Tinia looks up, forgetting about the tea, and some overflows from the cup. “You what?”

“I tried to cut it off,” Prompto says. “It was a bad idea.”

“But you have soulmates,” Tinia says, eyes wide and still.

“Um… yeah?”

“Prompto,” Tinia says, setting down the tea pot. “Hurting yourself shows up on your soulmate’s skin. It’s like with a pen, but it leaves a scar or a mark instead of ink.” With some hesitation, she lifts up her sleeve, and there are words carved into her skin. Things like _BITCH_ and _I WILL FIND YOU_ in ragged lettering.

He thinks of the wound he inflicted on himself, so many cuts, some crisscrossing, making a ragged mess of his flesh, showing up as scars on his soulmates’ skin. “I—I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.” There’s nothing to be done about it now. Prompto’s burn is recovering—it’ll be smooth and blank like Aranea’s in a few days. But his soulmates, they’ll have scars from his self-inflicted cuts decorating their wrists. He’s just as bad as Tinia’s shitty soulmate, and he hates it.

“I know, sweetie. I know,” Tinia says. “It’ll be alright. One way or another. We’ll all get through this.”

Prompto, desperately, lets himself believe her. At least just for the night.


	4. Impulse (Prompto, Pre-A Royal Soulmate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment between Aranea and Prompto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pokegirl828: "For ARS sidestory, could there be sibling moments between Aranea and Prompto? Or maybe Aranea's POV of chapter 3 of the sidestory?"
> 
> I wrote this on the bus today, hope it delivers.

"Why me?" Prompto asks Aranea, in one of the many cold, dark nights they spend in hiding. 

"Why you what?" Aranea grunts, while cleaning her lance.

"Why did you save me?" Prompto repeats. "There had to be others you could have saved instead." 

Aranea tilts her head, eyes not looking away from her lance. "What, you mean when I first got out of the labs?"

Prompto's mouth is dry, but he says, "Yeah."

"That was such a long time ago, _Proshka_ ," Aranea says. "And we got out alive, didn't we? What does it matter?"

The affectionate diminutive settles Prompto a bit, but, "You didn't answer my question at all, _Aranya_."

She sighs. "Fine. I don't want to answer your question."

"Why not?" Prompto demands. "If it weren't for you, I'd be ash in Ifrit's kingdom right now. Why shouldn't I know why you saved me?"

"Because I wasn't going to," Aranea says, voice suddenly hot and furious but she's still not looking at Prompto. "I was thirteen and terrified. I only wanted to save myself, okay? Saving you was an impulse. An impulse that was going get us killed." She's trying to hide her eyes, and Prompto realizes that it's because she's tearing up. "There wasn't any big, important reason why I saved you. It just happened."

Prompto tucks his knees in under his chin and wraps his arm around them. "You don't regret saving me, right?"

"Of course not," Aranea says immediately. She abandons her lance to come over and hug him. "You're my brother. You weren't always, but you are now." She ruffles his hair. "My sweet, annoying, crack shot of a little brother."

Prompto sniffles, not realizing that he had starting crying himself. "Now you're just embarrassing yourself," he says, voice cracking and wet. 

Aranea laughs a bit around the emotion clogging up her throat. "An embarrassing older sister that you're stuck with."

"Good," Prompto says between his tears. "I'm going to hold you to that."


	5. The Sewers (Luche Lazarus, Chapter 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingsglaives can't find the assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rationallyparanoid: "I was curious what the glaives were doing/thinking whilst hunting for Prompto. I'd love to see how Tredd felt after having his gun stolen and then being shot with it. Bet he'll never live it down XD"

They can’t fucking find the assassin.

The best assassins in all of Eos, and they can’t fucking find _one guy_ —one! And he’s blond! He should stick out like a sore thumb in Insomnia! In all of _Lucis_ even, it shouldn’t be this hard!

But no. A day, two, and then suddenly it’s almost an entire week since the assassin escaped from the Citadel.

Drautos is pissed.

“He’s a blond Niff is a sea of dark-haired Lucians,” the Captain says. “How hard can he be to find?”

“We’re trying, sir,” Luche reports. “He’s skilled at eluding us.”

The Captain eyes him, and sighs. “I suppose a Resistance fighter who survived the Empire would be,” which is the closest thing to understanding that Luche’s is going to get from Drautos. “But we can’t fail. In times of peace, the Kingsglaive still has its place—but we must prove it, and bring this boy in safely.” He drums his fingers thoughtfully against his desk. “How have you been organizing the sweeps?”

“We’ve been going in a grid fashion, sir,” Luche says. “But he could be anywhere in the city. We know he hasn’t left the city due to the increase of guards at the border, but that limits how many we can send on sweeps.”

“The city is a large place,” Drautos says, pondering. “Lots of places to hide. Especially if you’re used to worse than ideal conditions.”

Luche waits.

The Captain continues, “And if you’re used to stealing to survive. We can’t let this assassin have free run of Insomnia under our noses. Luche, get one of the recordings from when we brought him in, get me a good picture of his face, and let’s broadcast this shit.” 

He startles. “Sir?”

Drautos grins a bit viciously. “He can run only where we’re not looking for him. So let’s get _everybody_ looking for him. It’ll be like smoking him out.”

“But he’s injured, sir,” Luche says. “Do we really want to… put so much pressure on him?”

“If we don’t,” Drautos says, “we might just end up finding him dead in the sewers at the rate we’re going. We have to bring him in, and quickly.”

…

Getting permission to post the assassin’s face on TV is a nightmare. None of the royals wanted their soulmate’s face as a wanted person on the news, but their concern for his well-being overrides their fear of publicity. Remarkably sensible, for nobility.

And it works. To an extent. The fifth time the Kingsglaives are summoned to an apartment just too late to catch the guy some neighbor called in about who matched the photograph on TV, Luche considers asking the Captain to revise their approach.

“You don’t think he’s actually in the sewers?” Tredd asks, nose scrunched up as he pokes the manhole cover with his toe. “That fucker already shot me, I’m not going into a sewer for him.”

Luche thinks about it. “We should consider it. It sure would be a place to hide.”

“But the _sewers_?” Tredd asks incredulously. “We know he’s staying in empty apartments as much as possible.”

“And to get to place to place,” Luche says slowly. “He must be using the sewers and the subway to get around.”

Tredd snorts. “Like a fucking Niff rat.”

“ _Tredd_ ,” Luche says. “It’s the Prince’s soulmate. Be careful.” 

“Yeah, yeah…” Tredd mutters. “He _shot_ me, with my _own gun_.”

Luche sighs. “Get into the sewer, Tredd.”

…

They don’t find the assassin in the sewer, which Tredd will never let Luche forget.

Nyx finds him, in an alleyway by some garbage, unconscious and feverish.

“ _I found him_ ,” Nyx says over the comm. “ _I think—this is him_. _Yes, it definitely is._ ”

“Wait for back-up,” Drautos commands. “He’s dangerous.”

“ _He’s unconscious_ ,” Nyx retorts because he never shows the Captain enough respect and that isn’t going to change now over an assassin. “ _He looks dead. He needs immediate medical attention_.”

“Ulric, wait for one goddamned second for back-up,” Dratos says, “the others are literally a minute away, if you die over _one minute_ —”

“ _I’m checking his pulse. I’ll be careful_ ,” Nyx says, and there’s a brief moment of silence save for the Captain’s cursing where everything could have been fine, and there’s suddenly a gasp and a thud.

“Ulric, _report_ ,” Drautos hisses. 

“ _Hey, hey, easy_ ,” comes Nyx’s voice, smooth and warm and not reassuring in the slightest. The Captain’s grip on his desk goes white. “ _I just wanted to check your wounds_.”

It only gets worse from there. They listen, tense, as Nyx lets them know there’s a gun held to his head by a delirious assassin. When Nyx orders the others who have caught up, because they were in fact, literally a minute away, to back off, Drautos says into the comms, “Absolutely do not retreat. Take out the assassin before he pulls the trigger.”

“Captain, if it’s held against his head, there won’t be enough time,” Luche says, trying to make sure this doesn’t end with Nyx’s idiot brains all over the wall. No matter how much he would deserve that.

“ _It’s pressed up against his throat_ ,” Crowe says, voice thin and tight. “ _I can’t even cast a spell without the assassin having the time to get one shot in_.”

Nyx is talking and talking, and all they can do is wait, and hope that they’re not losing one of their own on a stupid domestic mission. Luche personally vows to kill Nyx himself when he asks the assassin, “ _Are you going to_?” after the assassin says he could kill him. He can see the little half-smirk on Nyx’s face as he says it to—confident, lazy, and more relaxed than he ever has any right to be.  

“Nyx, if you die, I’m pissing on your grave,” Luche says, before he can think better of it.

“We won’t give him a grave,” Drautos says, and Luche suddenly remembers he’s in the same room as the Captain. “We’ll string up his corpse as a warning to others.”

Nyx ignores them both, thanks the gods. He somehow keeps talking to the assassin, _somehow_ charming him and likely making promises he won’t be able to keep.

Or maybe he will. He can’t speak for the royalty though, and while Nyx thinks the best of them out of most of the Glaives, they’re never beholden to the words of one of their weapons.

But it doesn’t matter. They can lie to the assassin.

As long as they bring him in alive. When the weak and resigned, “ _Okay. I’ll come with you_ ,” comes through, Luche and Drautos both relax minutely. When Nyx is in the company of other Glaives and safely heading to the Citadel, they both sit down.

The Captain pulls out his ear piece. “This assassin is going to be trouble.”

“Yeah,” Luche says, pulling out his own. “He is.”

“Fucking Ulric,” Drautos says.

“Fuck him,” Luche agrees.


	6. Hardcore Parkour (Post-ARS, in a happy ending timeline)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> byakko4 requested: "....Prompto and Aranea being badass? With the rest of the bros freaking out maybe?" as well as "also, tossing out the idea of Prom being proficient at parkour"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already on tumblr, but I'm going through my tumblr only ficlets and trying to post everything on ao3. there might be a couple others that i'll post here as a side story, since I have written a few ARS related things, rather than in a separate Prompt Fill series (which will be created shortly)

“Not yet,” Prompto says, braced in a runner’s starting position and practically vibrating with barely contained energy. Aranea’s in a similar pose besides him, as still as a snake poised to strike. “Not yet. Okay. Three, two, one--!”

And they’re gone. Ignis watches the two of them leap across rooftops, slightly envious that he didn’t think to join them.

“Oh gods, if they miss a step…” Gladio mutters. He rubs the back of his neck. “You think we’d have enough time to get a phoenix down in them?”

“They’re both stocked with some potions and phoenix downs, and I’m certain neither is so determined to win that they would leave the other,” Ignis comments mildly. “I doubt we have any cause to worry. Both of them are surprisingly sturdy.”

Gladio mutters something under his breath that Ignis doesn’t catch, though he’s certain the content is unlikely substantive. 

They watch the images of Aranea and Prompto scale the side of the Citadel, Ignis finds himself swearing as they see Aranea kick Prompto. He slides down several levels before catching himself, and Ignis halts in the sprint he didn’t realize that he started. 

A moment later, a flash of light and Nyx Ulric appear next to Prompto, kukris dangling him aloft on the wall. 

As his sister clears the Citadel wall by leaps and bounds, Prompto remains where he is with Ulric. Ignis doesn’t see him look up to Aranea again in any sort of attempt to gauge his chances of winning still, so distracted he is by the kingsglaive.

“Well,” Ignis comments mildly. “It seems Prompto’s  _ fallen _ for Nyx.”

Gladio sighs. “I’m just happy that Prompto didn’t go splat on the ground.”

“Oh, live a little, Gladio,” Ignis says. “It’s young love. And Nyx is clearly ready to catch him whenever he falls.”  
  



	7. Discovery (Gladio, pre-ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Gladio first discovers that he has a soulmate, he knows what precautions he has to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for dashin’s prompt, “It would be super fun to get a little look-see at the not-Prompto trio in the soulmates AU before Prom arrived in Insomnia.” I didn’t get all three in here, but hope you enjoy anyway dash~

When Gladio first discovers he has a soulmate, he approaches the matter cautiously, as his dad advises. He doesn’t give them any information that can be traced to him, and is vindicated when they don’t either. He knows why he can’t give any information, after all; the fact that his soulmate is doing the same thing is suspicious.

As soon as he can, he tells his father. Clarus takes in the information grimly, coming to a very similar conclusion as Gladio when he tells him that his soulmate must also be trained in not leaking information.

Proud of his own deductions, and that his father agrees with his conclusions, Gladio thrusts his arm in front of his dad’s face, to show him the conversation he had with his soulmate. It’s not something his dad would ask to see, but Gladio wants him to know that he didn’t give them any information. “See? I didn’t slip anything,” Gladio says. He then tacks on, “Neither did they, though.” Clarus stares at the words, expression disconcertingly blank. Unease rises in his chest, and Gladio suggests, “Maybe I need to take lessons in interrogation? I tried my best.”

“Good gods,” Clarus says, dragging his hand up to his face to rub his brow. Gladio’s not sure what inspired that reaction. He was so  _sure_  he did well. “I know that handwriting. It’s Tellus’ boy. His nephew.”

Oh.

“That’s why he’s not giving you any information.  _I_  trained him, too.”

“Oh,” Gladio says. He never really thought his soulmate would be right in the Citadel. Has he even met Lord Scientia’s nephew? He thinks so, but he can’t remember his face.

What’s he going to do with a soulmate? He’s got his dad and mom, Iris, and Noctis. Gladio doesn’t really need anyone else.

“This is good news, though,” Clarus says, “your soulmate is one of us. And not an enemy. I’ll give Tellus a call, and let him know.” He chuckles a bit, face relaxed and relieved. For as much as Gladio got caught up in trying to do well in withholding information from an unknown and slyly interrogate his soulmate, that would have been the worst case scenario. Worst even than his mom and dad, who were strangers but not enemies.

This is probably the best and least likely possibility, and Gladio has no idea what to do with it.

“Yeah,” Gladio says.


	8. Chocobo (Prompto, sometime later in ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto meets a chocobo for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kickingshoes requested: ARS Prompto meeting a Chocobo [for the first time]

“Oh, Shiva,” Prompto says, walking forward. “Is that–is that a  _chocobo_?” **  
**

Ignis clears his throat behind him. “You said you liked chocobos, so… I thought you might enjoy visiting our stables here in Insomnia.”

“Yeah!” Prompto exclaims, hands reaching out to pet that fluffy head, holy shit, it’s so soft! “I’ve never seen one before.”

“They don’t have chocobos in Niflheim?” Ignis asks, and Prompto can hear his soft footsteps on the ground of the stable.

“Nah,” Prompto says. The chocobo, nudges his chest with her bright orange beak. “It’s too cold there. And they can’t cross the snow very well. It’s too deep.”

“Ah, she wants a snack. Here, let me get you some greens,” Ignis says, stepping away to a nearby refrigerator.

“I thought chocobos were yellow?” Prompto says, petting the purple, downy feathers. “She’s beautiful, but…”

“Chocobos come in a wide variety of colors,” Ignis says, handing him some leafy greens. “Their feathers may also be dyed, if you have the correct kind. However, Tulip has always been lavender.”

“Hey there, Tulip,” Prompto says, holding out a leaf, and barely reflexes his hand back quickly enough to avoid her beak. “Whoa!”

“Ah, yes, be careful,” Ignis says, and Prompto can hear the smile on his face. “They love their greens. Here, like this,” he takes a leaf in hand and leans forward, the majority of the leaf facing Tulip. He stands closely next to Prompto to do so, for the first time in quite a while.

But Ignis’ face is soft and smiling and affectionate while he’s feeding his chocobo, and Prompto relaxes.

He smiles, takes a leaf, and tries again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my in game chocobo is named Tulip


	9. How to Make a Blanket (Nyx, sometime during ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx talks to an MT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kickingshoes requested: ZRX, Bubbles, and Blanket interacting with Nyx/others

Nyx stares at the MT he’s supposed to do guard duty with. He realizes that it’s rude, but–well, MTs don’t care, do they?

“So,” Nyx says. “What do you do in Niflheim to pass the time during guard duty?”

Its–no, he, didn’t Prompto say Blanket was a he? How do they even  _know_  that? Blanket turns his head towards Nyx, and Nyx stares up uncomfortably at red, glowing eyes.

“I review manuals of how to make blankets within my memory files,” says Blanket. Which… what? “Lady Nitidus has recently shown me the many ways I can produce blankets with materials that are easy to acquire, as well as construct and tailor clothing.”

Nyx waits, mouth gaping a little, trying to reconcile an MT to  _making blankets_. Wait–how does he make the blankets?

“Do you mean, like… knitting?” Nyx asks.

The MT nods. “Affirmative. That is one way to make a blanket with simple materials. The other is to tie two fleece sheets together. I am proficient at both techniques.”

“Oh, gods, you could join a knitting club with Cor,” Nyx says. “Or form your own club. ‘Increasingly Surprising People Who Knit.’”

“Most of the blankets I produce,” Blanket says, “go to younger MT units, who did not receive treatment to resist the cold. The blankets act as external assists.”

Nyx stares at him. “Yeah, that is how blankets work.” Wait, younger MTs–he gives them to children? 

Who would have thought? Nyx muses. “Hey, man, so what’s the first step of making a blanket?” and let the MTs words distract him the rest of guard duty. 


	10. Hardware (Gladio, an AU of ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The assassin has mechanical parts to him. Gladio tries to deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annkan7 asked: Prompt: much more mt!prompto trying to hide all the mechanical parts and weird behaviors from the guys
> 
> this is an AU of the ARS story. a fun "what if" of chapter 3

Now that they’ve  _got_  the assassin, they have to figure out what to do with him.

He’s strapped down to the gurney, mostly for transport, but just in case he’s more resistant to sleep magic than they think. Gladio notes how pale he is, and while he’s got some muscle, he’s still a bit too thin. Which isn’t unexpected, not really. Gladio hears about what happens in Niflheim to its own citizens.

“We need to get him clean clothes,” Gladio tells Ulric and his dad. “No offense, Ulric,” he adds, to the Glaive who is currently wearing a pair of pants that are clearly not his and several sizes too small.

And nothing else. Because his soulmate knocked out their star Glaive and stole his clothes.

“None taken,” says Ulric, who would probably be perfectly comfortable wandering around naked.

A couple of nurses move his soulmate to a bed, and begin removing his clothing. His father is discussing security with Ulric, when one of the nurses freeze.

“Sir,” he says, and Nyx is already pushing in front of the nurse, but the assassin isn’t awake. He’s still out cold, but the Kingsglaive jacket and shirt is gone, leaving his chest bare as well as–

“What the hell,” Gladio says softly, and his dad swears.

“That looks like a port,” says the other nurse. “Like… for a phone, but that’s too big for one.”

“And it’s on a  _person_ ,” says Ulric, and he’s not looking that well, face pale while he stares at the electrical ports and metal implanted into the assassin’s–Gladio’s soulmate’s–chest.

“What’s it for?” Gladio asks, and he doesn’t want to, because even if he doesn’t know this guy, it’s his soulmate, but he steps forward for a better look.

His father is staring at it. “I think,” Clarus says slowly, also looking a bit shaken, “if I recall correctly. That the Empire does that on MTs.” Before that can sink in, he adds, “I’ve never seen it in person, however.”

“My soulmate is an MT?” Gladio asks, which he shouldn’t, because this isn’t a private room, but Ulric and the nurses all suddenly look away and pretend they’re not there.

“I don’t think so,” Ulric says. “I’ve seen MTs without their armor and they’re… much less visibly human than this.”

“The process wasn’t finished, maybe?” says one of the nurses. “He’s the resistance fighter who killed the Emperor, right? It’d make sense that he’d be one of theirs. Ifrit, I would certainly want to blast the head off of a guy who–”

“ _Ales_!” says the other nurse, his eyes flickering to Gladio and Clarus.

“At ease,” Clarus says. “Alright. Ulric, tell Drautos we need a detail on him and utmost secrecy. This isn’t getting out. Nurse Ales, get–someone who can figure out what he needs in terms of medical care.”

Nyx goes, as does one of the nurses. Gladio stares at his soulmate’s mutilated skin, eyeing the long, knotted scars.

“Dad…” he starts, but doesn’t finish.

His father glances at him. “Go find Ignis and Noctis,” he says firmly. “Tell them that we’ve found your soulmate, and that he’ll be fine. Because it will be fine, Gladio.”

Gladio breathes out. “Yes, sir,” he says, and hopes his father is right.


	11. Children's Drawings (Prompto, pre-ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto spends a long time being ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nifflerstorm asked: U mentioned that kids often draw pictures and have their soulmates add onto them. I loved that scene between prompto and ignis as adults, but how about as kids? Did prompto cry because they always ignored him but maybe the one day he wants to not be alone so bad that he just draws something small, like a house, and he /finally/ gets a response... And the rest is up to u if u want to finish it :3

Prompto waits by himself in Bigg’s and Wedge’s little flat and doodles on his wrist. It’s cold–the heat is running, but it’s still cold–but he exposes his left wrist and draws anyway.

He’s not drawing with purpose. He doesn’t know he’s drawing chocobos until he gives one a beak, then Prompto draws it a sister.

Drawing on himself is nothing new. He’s done it a lot since discovering he had a soulmate.

But they never respond. Even though Aranea told him not to, Prompto still cried when he didn’t even get a drawing in response. Just something acknowledging him–

He moves his pen to add in the bird’s wings, when a shaky and unsure line forms before re can touch his pen to skin.

He watches, too befuddled to realize what it is immediately, as his soulmate makes the wings for him. They look terrible, Prompto thinks, raising his eyebrows when they add a sword scabbard to the bird’s back.

If the chocobo had a sword it needs an enemy, so Prompto starts making a daemon.

His soulmate adds fangs and claws.

Prompto gives the chocobo a determined expression.

His soulmate gives the daemon wounds.

And then, someone else adds to the drawing, filling out the daemon’s hair and clothes. Prompto watches two separate lines manifest on his arm and realizes he had two soulmates, not one.

Two soulmates. Two. Two people who, for some reason, are his soulmates. Who are in some way meant to be with him. In his life.

Two people, not just one, who refuse to speak to him.


	12. Perfect (Dino, pre-ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dino and Tredd being perfect soulmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> infindusfiles asked: What (or who) is my good boy Dino doing during ARS? How does he meet his soulmate? TELL ME ABOUT DINO BEING A GOOD HAPPY BOY

_I’m almost there_ , texts his soulmate. Dino taps his leg impatiently. He’s waited years, but now a few minutes is too much. **  
**

He busies himself with a sip from his drink. That doesn’t take nearly as long as he would like, so Dino takes another one, and soon enough, the drink is gone.

He orders another one. Fuck it. Dino’s about to meet his soulmate. In the flesh! True, Dino knows what he looks like, they’ve sent each other enough pictures, but they’ve never met face to face before.

“Hey! Dino!” Dino looks up so fast he almost spills his brand new drink.

Tredd shows up, hair red and fiery, pale skin already pinkening in the Galdin sun. He rushes up across the bar, earning some scathing looks from the other patronages, to Dino. “Finally,” Tredd says, smiling.

“Finally,” Dino says, taking in his soulmate, who’s taller than  _him_  which is a blessing from the gods, and he’s wearing a tank which shows off his arms  _gloriously_. “It’s been years.” Years of written messages, then texting and phone calls, until Tredd got the funds to travel to Galdin from Insomnia during his vacation time.

They’re standing in the way and staring at each other, and gaining more rotten looks.  _I’ll give them something to stare at_ , Dino thinks, before pushing forward, wrapping his arms around Tredd’s neck, and pulling his soulmate into a kiss for the first time.


	13. Biding (Iris, during ARS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Iris up to during the events of A Royal Soulmate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zoerussle asked: Whats Iris up to in the royal soulmate?
> 
>  
> 
> Iris' and Gladio's mom is alive in ARS.

Lestallum is hot, and it sucks, but it means that Iris can have ice cream  _every day_ , so it’s not as terrible as it could be.

And Lestallum is really awesome, even if it’s hot and industrial. But the power plant workers–a lot of them women, and buff, and Iris wants to take notes, or just be able to admire them–are wonderful and and when Iris was brave enough to go up and tell them so, they smiled and laughed and gave her some work out tips.

The city of Lestallum, and more importantly has its own long, torrid history. Iris has never been as interested in history or the arts as much as Gladio is, but it makes their mom happy.

And it means they get to go on a trip to the Disc of Cauthess, which is even cooler up close.

The Crownsguard with them helpfully takes a picture of the two of them with the Disc as a backdrop. Iris wants to walk up as close as possible, but it takes a good part of the day to get to the Disc in the first place, and Monica clears her throat tellingly. “Libri,“ she says to her mom. “We ought to start heading back.”

“Yes, thank you, Monica,” her mom says. “Iris, let’s go dear.” 

Iris turns around regretfully, but without complaint. 

It’s beautiful, but she can come back. Her dad didn’t set a return date for the two of them, not while the Empire is visiting and he’s so fearful for their safety.

Another day, in the future, when Iris is stronger than her brother and her dad combined, she can keep going in the dark. 

But for now, she heads back with her mom and Monica to safety. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on my tumblr if you have any ideas for potential side stories I can add to this! I'm at seladorie.tumblr.com.
> 
> I put all the suggestions on a doc because I was hating how the list here looked.


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